A woman named Belle worked at the dance hall, and she’d brought the sick and dying miners out to the abandoned mansion to help them back to full health. Under her care, most of them healed quickly, but she’d fallen ill herself.
The legends said Belle had wandered into the mountains and found an old woman, who was able to restore her health. Belle returned to the mansion, but when the townsfolk went searching for her to thank her for saving their husbands, they found the house empty. No one ever saw her again— until years later, a veiled woman was seen weeping at the graves in the cemetery.
Witnesses swore it was Belle, but no one could find her. Some said she’d been wandering in the mountains all those years. Some said she never existed at all. Some believed she’d simply moved somewhere else after her healing. No matter what, the people of Silver Hills honored her by naming the mansion at the mine after her, one Belle Millhouse. The name stuck, even after a wealthy doctor purchased the house and moved in.
Naomi recalled the story, wondering if Belle was a ghost. Perhaps she was still in the house, nursing those who needed it. Naomi shook her head. That wasn’t right. No one had lived in the Millhouse mansion for years. And Colt’s mother had died here, not been saved by some long-lost ghost.
I thought I saw something paraded through Colt’s mind. What had she seen? When? Where? And more importantly, who?
Colt had been admiring her enthusiasm and childlike awe at inspecting the house. He remembered being awed with it as well, but he’d been eight and Rick had been eleven, and they’d located every nook and cranny where they could hide from their nanny. Rick used to sneak butterscotch discs from his father’s study and hide them in the alcove in the attic. That was their secret meeting place when their dad hit the bottle too hard.
Colt hated the library, as that was his father’s pride and joy. He’d entertained more politicians next to that fireplace than Colt could name. But somehow, he sensed that Naomi had seen someone he knew. He wondered why. On her deathbed, his mother still wouldn’t admit to seeing anything unusual in the house, but Colt had seen the transparent men since he was a small child. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t there.
And no one else had ever been able to see them. Not Rick. Not Aunt Marion. Colt hadn’t been brave enough to ask anyone else, and he felt the same cowardice now as he pointed out the blown glass lamps in the dining room, the black marble countertops, and the handcrafted alder cupboards his mother had ordered from Holland. She’d found the Dutch wooden shoes endearing and wanted the same type of wood in her kitchen.
Her pocketbook was twice as deep as her wish list, so she usually got what she wanted. Now that Colt owned half of what his mother had once, he realized his wish list couldn’t be bought with money.
He’d tried. He owned three motorcycles, and he still couldn’t go fast enough to outrun the crazy. He cut a glance at Naomi, who was running her hand lovingly along a cabinet door. If she’d seen someone, maybe he could talk to her about it. Maybe Colt could finally let his demons out and not be judged, ridiculed, or afraid he’d be caged in a padded room.
“Does the house have running water?” Her voice brought him out of the fantasyland where she saw the same ghosts he did and they laughed about it over cocktails.
“Last I knew,” he answered, moving out of the kitchen and into the informal family room. He heard the sound of running water behind him, spurting as the air in the line cleared. Naomi made a sound of approval, and he turned to find her writing something on her clipboard.
“Are you taking notes?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said without looking up. “If I’m going to restore this place, I need—”
“Slow down, sweetheart. Who said you were going to restore this place?”
She raised her eyes slowly to his, and he realized he shouldn’t have used such a sexist endearment. At least not with her. “Oh, you’ll hire me, Mister Jennings,” she said. “After you see what I can do for your rocking horse, you’ll be begging me to spruce this place up.”
“You should call me Colt,” he said. “Mister Jennings was my father, and I hated the man.”
She blinked, shock bringing a beautiful blush to her fair skin. “I’m sorry.” She moved into the family room with him. “Why did you hate him? Is that why you don’t want to restore the mansion?”
Colt hadn’t meant to say it. Didn’t know how to explain. “I don’t have much fondness for the place, that’s all.” He turned to the wall where his mother had hung pictures of him and Rick, dating as far back as babyhood.
“Don’t you think it deserves to be preserved?” She trailed along behind him as he moved down the lengthy wall of photos. “I mean, this place is a landmark. It’s like the courthouse, or the first school, the saloon, the depot.”
Silver Hills had more than its fair share of historic buildings, all decorated for the tourists and groups that came through town. Main Street itself had over forty buildings, some from Silver Hills and some from the surrounding areas. His favorite was the general store, where he imagined he and Rick could’ve bought penny candy and peppermint sticks before wasting an afternoon in the tall grass behind the house.
Along with the tourists came the outdoor enthusiasts. Colt led them on fishing expeditions for the best trout fishing this side of the Mississippi. This late in the season, though, he’d have to rely on his savings and inherited fortune to keep warm this winter.
A bank of thunder shook the house, startling him and causing Naomi to stumble in her heels. He reached out and steadied her, a rush of fire shooting up his arm and into his chest. Their eyes locked as the air around them crackled with heat and electricity.
The room darkened, and Colt heard the wind battering the walls, rumbling the glass and causing mayhem with his plans to get home before the storm hit.
Naomi gently extracted her elbow from his grip and moved to the bank of windows in the kitchen. “It looks bad,” she said. “We should get back into town.”
Another bolt of lightning— the electricity Colt had thought came from contact with Naomi— lit the house, a crash of thunder following almost immediately.
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere,” he said.
Chapter Three
“What do you mean?” Naomi hated that her voice had the ring of hysteria in it. “It’s just rain.”
Colt peered up through the window. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“Would you stop with the— the endearments?” she sneered. “I have a name.”
He gave her a half grin, which made her stomach do things it hadn’t done in a long time. Maybe she didn’t mind being called sweetheart when it was his voice talking.
“It looks like—”
The angry pelting of hail hitting the roof drowned out the rest of his sentence.
“Yep. Hail,” he practically yelled. “We’ll need to hunker down here until it passes.”
Naomi couldn’t believe it was hailing. That she was here in the Millhouse mansion while it hailed. She’d never had such good luck.
“You want to find that horse?” Colt asked.
Of course, the company’s attitude could be improved upon. The way his hair had been trimmed into a half-hawk, with a gorgeous wave along the top and shaved sides, certainly didn’t need improvement. And it must take a heck of a lot of muscles to lead fishermen through the wilderness, because dang. Colt’s biceps strained against the sleeves of his jacket, which was practically begging to be taken off.
As if reading her mind, he shed his leather jacket and draped it over a settee in the family room. “Place holds its heat upstairs. That’s where the rocking horse is.” The white shirt he wore seemed a bit see-through, but she didn’t want to stare too hard to make sure.
Naomi hadn’t worn a jacket, so she let him lead the way toward the grand staircase across from the entrance to the library. She gripped the handrail for support, noting that it wobbled under her weight. Once she reached the top of the sta
irs, she made a note on her clipboard that the railing would need to be replaced.
Colt flipped a switch, because the hallway before them lay in darkness. Nothing happened. A shiver ran through Naomi, and goose bumps erupted along her arms and neck. She felt like she was being watched, but as she turned in a slow circle, she saw no one but Colt. He wasn’t watching her but casting his eyes around as well, as if he felt what she did.
“Do you feel that?” she asked. Almost a tangible sensation, but not quite. Someone was definitely in the hallway with them. She slipped her arm through Colt’s, gripping his forearm with both her hands.
“I feel it,” he whispered. He dipped his head closer to her ear. “What did you see in the library?”
“A man,” Naomi admitted. “He was wearing a coat and he had a mustache. He was sitting in the chair in front of the fire.”
The frantic plinking of hail on the roof filled the silence between them.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she whispered, finally daring to look at him. But he didn’t look dubious. Instead, he studied her with fascination, the fire in his eyes hard to decipher. Could’ve been attraction, but could’ve also as easily been confusion. Maybe both.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he finally said. He opened his mouth to continue, but the lights blazed on, cutting him off. He exhaled sharply— more relieved than he should’ve been.
Naomi didn’t know what to make of his behavior. How could he believe she’d seen someone sitting in the chair downstairs? But the sincerity in his words rang true. She felt certain he’d been about to say something important, and now the moment was lost.
He moved down the hall, but she kept her arm in his. He didn’t seem to mind, and she was secretly glad. With him, she’d be safe.
Embarrassment crept through Naomi. She couldn’t believe she’d told Colt she’d seen a man in the library. A ghost. Ridiculous!
Colt’s hand slid down her arm, and his fingers twined themselves between hers. “The man you saw is Jacob Lawson. He died in the mine collapse in 1861. His son was inside, panning with him.”
Naomi’s blood ran cold. “You know who he is?”
“He was the only one wearing a coat at the time of the collapse.” His tone hid more secrets, but Naomi couldn’t get past the fact that he believed her.
“So you believe me?” For some reason, it mattered to her.
“I’ve seen them all.” He stopped outside a closed door and squared his shoulders. “I see them every time I’m here. I know all their names, because I’ve studied the archives.”
The way he looked at her with such need, such openness, made her believe him. She nodded. “Okay, so we’re not crazy if we can see the same things.”
He gave a short laugh that sounded like a bark. “Oh, we’re crazy all right.”
The feeling of being watched returned, and Naomi turned around. She screamed as she came face-to-face with a woman.
Colt pulled Naomi into his chest, pressing her back against him as he quickly placed his hand over her mouth. “Shh,” he whispered in her ear, his lips accidentally brushing her lobe. Something strange burned within his core, something very much like the desire to kiss her ear for real.
“What do you see?” he murmured instead.
“A woman.” The words barely escaped between his fingers. “She’s wearing a long dress, and her hair is in two braids. She’s staring right at me.”
A woman? Colt had never seen a ghostly woman on his property. He didn’t know what to do or say next.
“She’s leaving,” Naomi said, her head turning slightly to the left. She relaxed in his arms, but he didn’t let go. “Um, Colt? I think she wants us to go with her.”
He slid his hand into hers, ignoring the swoop in his stomach. He was too old and too jaded for a stupid swooping stomach. For crying out loud. He’d sworn off women in Texas, and he certainly wasn’t going to get involved with someone he could’ve grown up with. Someone who hadn’t escaped Silver Hills when she’d had the chance.
“Lead on,” he whispered.
“You can’t see her?” The way Naomi wobbled on her heels as she moved down the hall proved her panic.
“I’ve never seen a woman out here, no.” He set his jaw when she paused outside the last door on the right. This room was over the family room and had been his as a child.
“She went in there.”
“This is my bedroom.” He couldn’t bring himself to open the door. He knew what he’d see— he’d been in here after his mother had died and knew it hadn’t changed. Her last breath had contained the words “Forgive me.”
He hadn’t known what she needed to be forgiven for. It was his father who had been cruel. Colt had no happy memories of his dad. He hadn’t missed him while he was at boarding school, and he hadn’t come home for his funeral when he finally drank himself to death. If anything, Colt needed his mother’s forgiveness for adding to her troubles.
“Should we go in?” Naomi asked.
Colt answered by turning the knob and letting the door drift open. His bed lay rumpled, exactly as he’d left it the day he’d walked out the front door. Five years of harsh summer winds driving dust through cracks and the bright sun fading colors greeted him.
“She’s standing at the window.” Naomi clung to him, pressing her leg against his. He didn’t mind, and though the situation was anything but erotic, he still felt every inch of her next to him.
“She’s gone.” Her breath whooshed out in relief, and Colt’s muscles relaxed too.
“Did you recognize her?” he asked.
“I know some history,” Naomi said. “But not enough to recognize spirits wandering through a house I’ve dreamed about exploring.”
Colt wondered if that included his bedroom. She disentangled herself from him and went to the window. He joined her, more than curious about this woman and the ghost she’d seen. Why could she see them, especially when no one else ever had?
“I used to love climbing out this window,” he said. “See the perfectly flat piece of roof there?” He pointed to his left. “That’s the overhang on the back patio. I’d sit there for hours when my parents fought. Sometimes I’d sleep out there when I didn’t want to be caged by walls.”
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. When she let go, Colt felt every empty space between his fingers.
“Do you have history books here?” she asked. “Maybe in the library? Maybe we can find her and figure out what she wants.”
Colt took a few more moments to gaze over the landscape, his heart skipping every third beat. He swallowed, his stomach warring with the aspirin he’d taken. Maybe he should’ve had something to eat with it, or at least a drink of water.
He scanned the land out the window, his brain bouncing from one side of his skull to the other. His eyes drifted closed as the vertigo intensified and then faded. He gripped the windowsill as he reopened his eyes, grateful things had solidified into their proper places.
The hail had turned to slushy rain, but he could still see the barn in the distance, the stables, the storage sheds. Closer to the house, his mother had kept a flower garden, now overrun with weeds and prairie grass. What could the ghostly woman have been looking at?
“Colt?” Naomi prompted from the doorway, and he turned.
He didn’t glance left or right as he left his bedroom. He didn’t want to restore this house, because then he’d be expected to live in it. And he could never do that.
Chapter Four
Colt looked as white as a ghost himself as he kept pace next to Naomi. She was grateful he hadn’t run off and left her to navigate the hall and stairs in her rickety heels. If she was being truthful, she was grateful he’d seen similar things. And thrilled to be holding his hand, even if it was only for a crisis situation.
She’d forgotten the safety and comfort in the human touch. Naomi hadn’t had much luck in the dating department, and most of her interactions were with her senile mother. She also had
a neighbor, Edith, who called Naomi and asked her to stop and get eggs or milk on her way home from work. Naomi would then stay for dinner and have a real conversation that didn’t include the words “paint stripper” or “blow out that wall to make more space.”
She fantasized about what it would be like to come home to this house, completely redone from top to bottom, where Colt would be making coffee in the kitchen. He’d plant a kiss on her temple, and they’d take their dinner in the family room, in the spot where the sun lingered longest.
The idyllic images faded as she stepped into the library. Colt turned rigid, one step wooden and the next fluid. “Hey, Jacob.” He nodded toward the windows, where Naomi discovered the mustached man, wearing his coat.
The apparition didn’t speak but simply walked through the glass and disappeared into the storm. Naomi moved to the windows to take in the same view as Jacob. The library faced east, the view overlooking the city of Silver Hills. She could see the farms spread out, the three-story library, and the long row of historical buildings on Main Street.
From this vantage point on the hill, she could see everyone and everything. She wondered what Jacob had been looking at, thinking about, as he stood here.
“Are they all here?” she asked. “All the victims of the mine collapse?”
“Yes,” Colt answered simply. “But there was no record of a woman.”
“What about Belle Millhouse?” Naomi asked, her mind leaping to the story she’d been thinking about the first time she’d seen Jacob. “The stories say she brought all those sick men here to nurse them back to health.”
She turned to find Colt bent over an open book.
He slowly raised his gaze to hers. “She did,” he said, his voice flecked with the sound of a sore throat. “Even though she didn’t own this place. No one did. She was the maid for the family that bought the house a few years later.” He flipped several pages in the book as he yawned. “Come look.”
All Hallows' Eve Collection Page 25
